Feline Groovy

1. They stay for breakfast.

2. They don't react as if you're emotionally deranged when you show them affection.

3. When you stroke them, they stay soft.

4. They couldn't care less if you're not Mr Muscleboy.

5. They never get bored with being teased with a toy.

6. They're never embarrassed about telling you when you are doing it right.

7. When you tell them they're beautiful, they believe you.

8. I've yet to meet a man who purrs when he buries his face in my armpit.

ELEGANT SIMPLICITY

Yes, I've found contentment. Two little black bundles of fur have entered into my life, and after just six days I can't imagine life without them, or how I coped with the emptiness before. There's something about feline consciousness which is very healthy to be around. Their honesty and self-centredness (dog-lovers would say selfishness) are admirable traits, in any species. Sharing your home with them means opening yourself up to the elegant simplicity of their lives, driven by basic needs such as food, warmth and safety; but spiced with a sense of play, a craving for affection, a lust for adventure, a fierce independence, and a kind of daft lunacy that lightens the darkest gloom.

Spend time with them and you rediscover sensuousness of a kind in which only the rarest of human lovers are capable of luxuriating. Watch a cat sink into ecstatic reverie, and you see a powerful transcendant imagination at work. The woolly jumper they are kneading has become Mother's Breast.

Cats know no shame. When Plato, the male kitten, who was initially reserved and distant, finally gave in and allowed himself to be cuddled, his abandonment was total. His extraordinary whimpers of joy evoked in me a curious mixture of envy and satisfaction. Envy that he can trust so wholeheartedly, as he lay flat out on his back pawing the air in glorious submission, and satisfaction that his trust is not going to be abused for as long as I'm around in his life.

empty flat

Taking on cats nowadays is a curious business. I was moved to do so after a particularly good day, with a couple of excellent meetings during which it seemed that my life and career could become quite promising, after a rough patch of a couple of months. I went home to an empty flat, and as I rattled around, with no-one to share my news with, I told myself that I would never do that again.

I rang the Cats Protection League here in North London, and told them that I had just moved into a lovely new flat that felt like home, and did they have any kittens? They were icily reserved, and would only discuss when I would be free for a Home Visit; no information was forthcoming about what animals were available.

Within a few days, Lil, one of the redoubtable old ladies who keep this country sane and compassionate, was having tea with me in my kitchen, sussing me out. I obviously passed whatever the standard was, for I was welcomed into their office a few days later with open arms, and shown downstairs. The room was lined with cages, full of cats and kittens of all shapes and sizes. Through a door I could see another room, equally full.

The air was remarkably fresh, and the two dykes who were looking after them were obviously besotted with their charges. I was shown around about eight cages, each with kittens in them, all of them with take-me-home eyes. However, my decision had already been made for me, for as soon as I had walked into the room, the two kittens that "happened" to be out of their cage playing around on the floor had come up and claimed me.

The staff cheerfully confessed that they let out the ones they most wanted to get housed when someone came to visit; these two had been there for six weeks.

sweet

invitations

I filled out all the forms, and was told that they had been microchipped; a curious, but welcome, intrusion of modern technology. Something the size of a grain of rice had been injected into the scruff of their necks, bearing a code, which in the event of their wandering off, would mean that they could be returned to me.

I had to commit myself to neutering them at the age of six months. The roomfuls of unwanted cats were ample evidence of the sanity of this policy; but still, I have mixed feelings about it. Expect a full report when the time approaches, in October.

As I sign off, Plato and Portia are curled up together, and Portia is sleepily licking her brother's back. They're going to be around in my life for possibly twenty years; it's a big commitment. But my life feels fuller because of it; and, almost by magic, the phone has begun ringing, with sweet invitations of a romantic nature, from two men I haven't seen in ages.

Well, they're going to have to compete for my attention now. It's a good feeling. n